Homecoming
by AbovetheCloudsandDreaming
Summary: Joel and Ellie have just returned to Jackson from Salt Lake City. But Joel made a choice. And then another. Can Ellie forgive him so they can begin living the rest of their lives? Note: Does not take place in the 'Their Purpose' universe, but rather is supposed to be the first piece in the same universe as Demons, Speak to Me, and Gifts.


Endings are weird. Sewing up one chapter of life only to dive headfirst into the beginning of the next is never easy. Each time, though, she thinks she'll be better prepared to handle it than the last, be more used to it, more numb to the feeling of loss and abandonment. Because that's how _all_ of her endings have turned out. They're always abrupt, always catching her off guard, and always painful, despite it being... well, the norm. And that's probably why this one _does_ feel so weird. Because it isn't abrupt.

Oh no.

This is an ending to a journey that's consumed the better part of a year and led them across the United States. And _all_ of it with _him_ by her side. But this ending... _this_ ending, is ambiguous as _hell._ And the solemn expression across her face as she stares at the ground with an empty gaze while they stroll through Jackson for the first time doesn't even remotely hide how conflicted, confused, and _terrified_ she is.

This was their mission. This was their everything. And now it is all. Completely. Over. Coming to an end here, in Jackson, so they can begin something else. Something better. At least she hopes, anyway.

Maria and Tommy are walking a few feet ahead and giving them a quick tour of the place, but she's hardly acknowledged them at all. She's simply letting the crunch of Tommy's boots against dirt and gravel act as an audible guide as she blindly follows, not paying an ounce of attention to where they're headed. Their voices have become nothing but background noise, too, a mere soundtrack to her thoughts. She's so lost in her head, spiraling down a dark, dark hole, and so not _here._

Nothing matters. Nothing but the conversation Joel and her had about an hour ago.

 _Swear to me. Swear to me that everything you said about the Fireflies is true._

 _I swear._

 _Okay._

 _Fuck..._ she's not okay. She's anything but, because after all they've been through, how can he not be _honest_ with her? After everything they've dealt with, and how well he _knows_ her, how can he think he can just slip this by without her batting an eye?

A grimace engulfs her face. She tries to hide it but can't since it's beyond involuntary, and she's beginning to flush with reddish heat, anger boiling in her veins. Because yeah, he probably _does_ know he can't slip this by without her knowing. Yet he's trying anyway, and will probably just avoid it from now on altogether and never bring it up again. _Typical fucking Joel..._

Though as much as she fucking _hates_ him right now her hand is still wrapped around his like a vice-grip. Despite the pit forming in her gut, due to his transgression and this feeling that for the first time she can't fully trust him, he's still the only thing that's familiar. The only thing she knows, because he's _all_ she knows. And his presence, like always, is providing a sense of stability in this new, strange place.

Jackson is oddly quiet. And every resident and stranger they've passed have stared with watchful eyes and curious gazes the moment they stepped within its walls. Not to mention it's quite weird to see well-kept houses line both sides of the dirt roads through town, and people strolling along as if all is normal. And of course, always in sight is the towering wall that encases the town, an eerie reminder of what's out _there._ The overgrowth all around is lush, too, untamed and wild, intertwining itself with the unmistakable footprint of human civilization; houses, sidewalks, roads, signs, _people_.

This is about to be home. But it's all very different. Even intimidating.

She hears Maria laugh, followed shortly by Tommy. It's sudden, startling her a bit, and draws her attention up from the dirt, from her feet, although she has no idea what the chuckles are all about. Glancing to her left, Joel isn't laughing either, which makes her a tad less self-conscious. And the man is gripping her hand harder than he ever has while they walk through the streets, wandering to some house on the edge of town that's supposed to be their new home. Part of her likes it, because it's grounding. It means safety. No matter what. But part of her also knows he's only doing it because he's afraid she's about to do a fucking one-eighty and hightail it straight out of this "sanctuary." And he looks just as out of it as her, hardly paying much attention to his brother and sister-in-law, and _I hope you don't think we're past this yet._

This was supposed to be a new beginning, a fresh start. She even told him, said the words herself, that when they reached the finish line, they'd go wherever he wanted and start anew. _There's no halfway with this._ _Once we're done, we'll go wherever you want. Okay?_

And "wherever he wants" is apparently here, Jackson. A place she'll soon have to call home. A safe haven that just might allow her, and him, to experience some sense of normalcy and happiness and to live out whatever the fuck they have left.

But how can this _really_ be a fresh start? How can it be a blank canvas if crumbs, scraps, and bits and pieces of an ending have already trickled into a new beginning?

The monotonous sound of Tommy and Maria's footsteps against the dirt comes to a stop, and she nearly bumps into Maria's backside she's so lost in her thoughts. It's not until the tug of Joel's hand holding her back when she lifts her head and immediately halts her gait.

"Here we are," Tommy says.

She looks ahead, realizes they've finally reached the edge of the compound and are in some far, back corner. Standing before them is a modest two-story home. Its siding looks a bit damaged, the gray paint having faded some from years of neglect. Regardless, the place looks to be in remarkably good condition, all of its doors and windows intact. A short set of four steps lead up to the front porch, which extends across the width of the front of the house. At one end of it hangs an old, rusty porch swing. And it's the first thing she notices, her sharply-tuned senses immediately locating the sound of its rattling chains when it flutters and shakes in the gentle breeze.

"Nice little swing there," Joel says.

Funny. It's the first thing he's noticed too, just like her. Their paranoia and defensive reaction to every little squeak, sound, rustle in the wind or disturbance will be tough to shake. _Old habits I guess..._

She _forces_ a slight nod, couples it with the quietest of peeps; it's barely a confirmation that she heard him, but one nonetheless.

A small lantern hangs from the ceiling, just ahead of the front door. And lining the porch's perimeter, save for the five feet at the top step of the stairs leading up to it, is a white fence. The paint on the railing is chipped and scuffed all over. Whatever amount remains looks like it would scrape off with ease if she dragged a sleeve of her hoodie along its surface. And glancing upward there's a window on the second floor, too, that looks out onto the street, and she gathers it must be a bedroom. _My room? His room? Ours?_ And her stomach is starting to knot up because she doesn't have a clue as to how _that_ will get settled when all is said and done.

Maria makes her way up the steps, turning around to face the rest of them upon reaching the porch.

"Welcome home you two," she says smiling, leaning against the railing.

Tommy smiles as well and gives Joel's shoulder a playful jab. "Told you you'd always have a place here brother," he says as he too makes his way up the steps to join his wife. The younger Miller looks quite pleased he can provide some sort of support for his brother.

Ellie doesn't say a word. Doesn't even glance up at Joel to await his response, the man who's become her rock and foundation. She just stares ahead at the front door with a detached expression, brain and heart still a tempest of emotions. She's not sure what to make of all... this.

A home. A _home._ Which is sounding weirder by the second because she's never had a place to call her own. And it's not just any home, _fuck,_ it's a home with this man, that rock and foundation, whom she thought she trusted. _Everything's cool. He's still... Joel._ _We're gonna be okay, right_ _?_

There must be, at the very least, some subconscious part of her that thinks so, because she realizes she's been clinging to his hand like her life depends on it since the moment they stepped into this little town.

He shoots her a look, clearly notices the blank expression across her face and lack of any sort of response from her. Part of him wants to immediately begin teaching her some manners, get her to say "thank you" and be appreciative in moments like this one. And they'll both have to reacquaint themselves with living a normal life, so why not start now? But another part of him _knows_ he doesn't have the fucking right to say shit. _Especially_ right now given the circumstances.

So he doesn't, and simply looks back up to his brother and nods. "Sure did," he says slowly, under an exhale. And he sounds _exhausted_ as hell. Like he's been running on fumes since god-knows-when, just to push the two of them across the finish line.

But he knows they aren't done quite yet. Nope. Thanks to him, the moment Maria and Tommy leave they'll have to tackle one last thing. _You know she knows, you bitter old fuck. Don't lie to yourself too asshole._ The girl hasn't said a single damn word since their earlier conversation, the poor little redhead looking dejected as ever during the entire walk through town, and even now, after being presented a _home._ And he swears he can just _feel_ the storm of rage, frustration, anger and fear radiating from her small frame. _But she's still grippin' your hand so hard it feels like it's about to fall off._

The two weary souls sure as hell aren't doing a good job of hiding it all. And Tommy and Maria shoot each other a glance, each of them making a face, noticing that not all is well. That the tension between their new residents is so high they could cut it with a wooden spoon. But bless their hearts, because neither of them say a single word. Don't mention it in the slightest. They haven't even asked all that many questions, really. Not yet, anyway.

Ellie watches their subtle interaction in her peripheral, knows they notice the eight-hundred pound gorilla that might as well be standing between Joel and her. And she knows that damn gorilla isn't going _anywhere_ until they both face it head on. _Fuck..._

Not exactly sure what to do next, Maria simply spins around and unlocks the front door, mouthing to herself an elongated _"wow"_ along the way. She wants to be of help, wants to play the comforting role of mother hen, but knows she has no _clue_ what these two have been through since last seeing them in the fall.

Joel follows, stepping forward and pulling Ellie with him. She lets herself get tugged along, doesn't resist, though she's still unable to muster any sort of verbal response.

As they trudge up the steps, Tommy gently places a hand on Joel's shoulder. "This alright?" he asks, legitimate concern underneath the question.

Joel stops, looks at him, forces a small smile to brush him off. "Reckon it's just fine," he responds, voice gentle, but thick with that familiar southern drawl.

Tommy's hand retreats, and he nods, though his smile wanes a bit. It's obvious there's a mountain of sorrow and pain behind the two pairs of eyes in front of him.

Maria swings the door open. It's quite flimsy, and its hinges squeak and groan as she does it, but it unveils the living room, the first sight of their new home.

Joel peers inside, scans the room, still paranoid _something_ is lurking in the shadows. The first thing he sees is a large, olive green couch sitting against the rear wall. It's stained, has quite a few rips and tears in it, but the old thing looks quite comfy. And there's a dark, walnut colored and modest sized coffee table sitting a few feet in front of it, coupled with a matching, smaller side table against the opposite wall that a television is sitting atop of. The damn things have Ikea written all over them. And he's surprised to find how pleased he is that he can actually remember what the fuck _that_ even is.

He glances down, at the shag carpet covering the floor, and it all looks surprisingly clean, only a few blotches of discoloration here and there. It's a light beige, and extends to the edge of the room until meeting the linoleum floor in a small, adjacent kitchen. Looking further, there's a short hallway at the end of the room as well, leading to what looks like a den area at the rear of the house and a stairway to the second story immediately on the right.

Their home. It's nothing fancy. A humble thing. But it's perfect for just the two of them. And he's already envisioning all the wonderful things he'll get provide for Ellie that she's never, ever, once had.

He manages a subtle smile, but it's quick to fade because for the first time since arriving, she rips her hand away and immediately marches for the couch, tossing her backpack to the floor with way more force than necessary. It rolls and tumbles, makes quite a raucous, but she doesn't notice. Doesn't seem to care she's sort of made a "scene," and just plops down onto the couch with her arms and legs crossed.

He watches the whole ordeal and wants to say something, though he knows speaking to it won't do any damn good right now. And right before stepping inside, he stops in the middle of the doorway, turns around and pulls his gaze up to Maria, feeling so fucking _guilty_ that he's not _happier_ in this moment.

He dips his head a tad, scratches his brow with a thumbnail. "It ain't that we're not grateful," he starts. "It's just..."

"I know," Maria says with wilted eyes and an understanding look. She places a hand on his arm. "It's okay."

Joel nods, makes a face of some combination of relief and reluctance. "Yeah," he mutters under a sigh.

He looks over his shoulder, back at Ellie, and sees her sitting there looking melancholy as ever. _G_ _oddammit look at her..._

He takes a half-second to collect himself, and clears his throat. "So kiddo, what you think?" he asks, loud enough he's _sure_ she can hear him. His deep voice carries across the room, fills it wall to wall, and they're the first words either of them have said to one another since _"okay."_

She takes a look around, makes a few mental notes, puffs out her cheeks and nods like she's not exactly sure how she feels about it all. And for some reason her eyes are starting burn because _Jesus_ she wants to cry right now but has no idea why.

"Yeah, it's - "

She stops, feels her voice quaver over the lump growing in her throat, but is quick to clear it out and gather herself. "It's great."

Joel looks back to Maria, shrugs. "Well there you have it. Girl has spoken."

Maria and Tommy let out a chuckle at his chosen vernacular. The laughs are thin, fake, clearly forced, but a nice break from the awkward tension that's creeping through all four of them.

Joel hesitates for a few seconds before walking inside, knows he's being an ungrateful ass for not showing any semblance of appreciation. But his mind is _obsessing_ over _her_ and their conversation, and anything else is irrelevant.

So he just nods again, gives a terse goodbye. "Alright then," he says, and begins closing the door.

Maria smiles, waves goodbye and turns to leave, but Tommy speaks up once more, "actually Joel..." he says cautiously, only to pause and run a hand through his hair while cringing a bit because he knows his brother won't like what he's about to say.

Joel's face falls, goes stiff, and he shoots him a glare that just says " _I don't care what it is. Now ain't the damn time."_

Maria ceases her descent down the steps, remains an arm's reach away from her husband.

Tommy clears his throat, feeling more awkward and uncomfortable by the second. "New arrivals have to go through security, pass a series of checks before settlin' in. Only reason you didn't do it first thing is 'cause you're with us. It's just procedure. Ya know?" he explains, eyes rising to meet his brother's. He's praying the gruff old man will simply cave and make it easy for him.

Yeah right.

Hardly a nanosecond passes before Joel hears Ellie nervously shift atop the couch behind him. And suddenly the tension between them is approaching critical mass, because he can practically hear her heart pounding behind the prison of her rib cage. Knows all of the alarms in that head of hers are going off and telling her Tommy's plans mean nothing but danger.

Security. Inspections. Pat-downs. It's all bad. And it means putting in harm's way what he just fought so fucking hard to get back. Her.

So he's quick to respond. Just shakes his head, waves him off with a gesture of a hand. "Not now." His voice comes out stern, steady as a rock, doesn't fluctuate in the slightest. There's zero ambiguity to it.

Tommy cuts loose an exasperated sigh, drops his head and pinches the bridge of his nose, mumbles some silent prayer since he can't believe he's already pissing his brother off. He regains his composure, only to immediately lose it again upon seeing the leer Joel is giving him. "Look, we _know._ But it'll be okay, I promise. It'll be Maria's dad an' us. Everything will - "

"I said not now Tommy," Joel growls, voice rising in volume just a smidgen. And there's a chilling warning underneath it that says he better choose his next words carefully.

"C'mon Joel, it ain't a big deal. It's just S.O.P," Tommy fires back, voice rising as well.

Joel's face tenses some more, teeth clenching, brow furrowing. "Goddammit Tommy I'm sayin' no an' I mean it."

"Joel it's just - "

"I said no!" he barks.

Silence.

And he steps out onto the porch as he pulls the door closed-over, spitting another "goddammit" under his breath as he does so and leaving Ellie alone on the couch inside.

She glances at the sliver of light coming through the narrow crack of the barely-open door and tries to listen in, but it's all muffled voices and whispers at this point. The little redhead can't hear exactly what's being said, but she sure as hell knows Joel is probably fighting his way out of it. And thank god he is because dealing with... _that_ right now seems impossible. She's got a pretty good guess as to how it'll all go, too. Some stranger will ask her a bunch of questions. Poke her. Prod her. Treat her like one of those monkeys at the university. They'll want to inspect her arm, then ask even more questions, each one more irritating than the last, and she'll end up feeling like some sort of freak or _disease._ And it's going to stress the _fuck_ out of Joel so she'll have to keep her shit together or he'll lose it. Then someone will tell her she's not welcome here and everything will blow up in their faces and _we'll get thrown out on our asses for good and -_

She throws her head back, plants it against the cushion behind her and closes both eyes, takes a deep breath. _Easy Ellie. He won't let that happen._ _One thing at a time._

Her eyes pop open, gaze up at the ceiling, and part of her feels so perturbed, so filthy and so... _wrong,_ for even thinking that Joel-anything is still a source of comfort. But as much as she hates it, it's an undeniable truth.

And she knows it.

The door finally swings open and he steps inside, slamming it shut behind him. He leans against it, tilting his head back, eyes closing as he draws in a breath of relief. He mouths something to himself, she can't tell what. It's probably some curse hurled at his brother. And just being privy to the short interaction between the two Millers shows the man at least wasn't lying about _that._ That Tommy and him have... all sorts of baggage and shit to sort out.

But now the inevitable has arrived. Now it's just them and that eight-hundred pound gorilla. Just them, the gorilla, and a tense silence so thick you could hammer a nail into it.

She has yet to look at him, yet to look at his face. Now that they're alone she can solely focus on the fury of emotions raging like a hurricane within her, just waiting to come spewing out. Yeah, she's not "okay." Not one fucking bit. And her face is getting redder and redder as she stares at the floor, eyes narrowed, hardly paying attention to his boots as he struts across the room and lumbers to the kitchen sink.

Her eyes peel themselves away from the floor and she watches him plant both hands on the counter, back towards her as he stares through the window above the sink. _Jesus_ the silence is painful, like nails on a chalkboard, and she swears she can hear the gears grinding away in his head. Hear his stomach churn from the sickness this _must_ be causing him. But _h_ _ow fucking dare you turn away from me right now..._

She won't be the first to speak. As hard as this deafening silence is for her, she senses it's even worse for him. Wants to let him suffer and roll around in it just a bit, until he can't take it anymore and finally breaks and says the first word. _Fucking awesome. So this is how we're starting our "new lives." Great..._

It doesn't take long. A minute at most. And he heaves a sigh, drops his head, but says something completely unrelated and different than what she's expecting. "You want somethin' to eat?"

"Nope," she snaps, voice razor sharp. _Don't say it..._

She can't help it.

"I _want_ to fucking talk," she snaps again, tone brimming with intensity. The words leap off her tongue uncontrollably, lightning quick like a lizard's snatching an insect out of the air.

He exhales, deeply, and runs a hand through his hair, giving her a glimpse of his watch. The sight of it triggers a memory of the first day they met, when all this began, when she told him the old thing was broken. And _fuck_ it floods her eyes with the sting of tears but for reasons she's not totally sure of. She reins them in, though, refuses to let them free, and composes herself just enough to keep it together. But it's _anything_ but easy.

"'Bout what?" he asks, albeit hesitantly, because he sure as hell fucking knows.

"You _know_ what."

" _Ellie..._ " he groans, finally turning around. He wipes a hand down his face, eyes meeting hers from across the room as he rests against the edge of the counter, palms curled over its edge. "We just talked about this." He sounds flat out tired, and already more than fed up with it.

Doesn't matter. He's not getting off the hook. Not this time.

She uncrosses her legs and arms, scoots forward to the edge of the cushion, elbows on her knees. "Yeah well I want to fucking talk about it some more."

He sighs. "We'll talk about it later."

She shoots up to her feet, arms crossing again. "No! Not later. _Now,_ " she sneers.

"I thought you said you were _okay?_ " he says, voice rising in volume. And there's actually a hint of frustration underneath it that only irritates her some more.

"Yeah well I guess I fucking lied to you," she fires back as she marches toward him, leveling him with a glare that he can only interpret as a not so subtle _"see how it feels?"_

He snorts, "tssht - I..." He stops, massages his brow with a few fingers, looking clearly uneasy and _trapped._ He walks past her, senses her eyes are following his every move, and leans against the wall, crosses his arms. "Can we please talk about this later?" he asks, tone taking another sharp turn. It sounds like he's almost begging her.

She moves to the middle of the living room, ready to fucking own it if she has to. "Umm... yeah, no. I think now would be good. Yep, let's do it now," she says with a quick series of nods.

"Jesus Christ..." he mutters through a breath as he rubs his eyes.

She leans her head forward a tad, expectantly, eyes widening, auburn bangs quivering from the anger quickly rising within her. And her face hardens, gets rigid as stone as she drills him with a glare.

"Fine," he spits, arms unfurling, hands flopping against his thighs. "What you wanna know?"

There's a few seconds of silence as he watches her contemplate what to say and how to say it. Then it spurts out. Suddenly. And it's loud as hell.

"I wanna know what happened!"

"Ellie I told you what happened!" he roars back, the man clearly done with all of _this._

"No you fucking didn't! You told me _your_ version and I wan't the truth!"

"They're the same goddamn thing!"

"Bullshit they are!"

They're full on shouting now, both of them trying to top the other with each retort. But then there's this... _silence._ And he realizes how deep of a hole he's dug himself into. So he gulps, and it's the only thing either of them hear in this deafening, short stretch of quiet.

"You _lied_ to me," she says, voice going soft, calm, and sounding far past the point of wounded. And her eyes are starting to well up, lower lip beginning to tremble.

He raises a hand in a defensive gesture. "I - " he stops, mouth agape, looks like he's at a complete loss for words and instead just makes some broken, airy sound as his brain short circuits and comes up empty. It's nothing that'll stop her, though.

"I knew you lied to me in the car. And I _gave_ you a chance to come clean and instead you..." she pauses, feels her voice beginning to crack like ice over a frozen lake, a lump the size of a melon forming in her throat.

He just stares at her, lips tightly pressed together, a solemn look of defeat plastered across his face.

"You fucking doubled down, Joel," she says, softly, hardly able to keep the crack in her voice from getting bigger.

He takes a second to come up with a response, the muscles in his face knotting up as he huffs and rubs his brow while glancing at the floor. He pulls his head up, only to look at her with an expression of pain she's only ever seen a few times from him.

"You wouldn't understand Ellie," he says.

And it comes out with such an eerie calmness that it finally hits her, full force, that he really _did_ lie to her. It's not like she needed further confirmation. She already _knew._ But hearing him admit even a sliver of it has her hair standing on end. _Keep it together Ellie. You're good..._

She swallows hard. Extra hard. And her eyes are turning glossy, gut knotting up to the point it hurts. "Try me," she murmurs.

He crosses his arms again, shifts his feet, a shoulder leaning against the wall, and can't believe this is still just a tiny fourteen-year-old girl standing in front of him who's ready to take on _anything_.

"What's the last thing you remember?" he asks. It's obvious there's a boatload of apprehension behind the question. Not for fear of his well-being, though. No. It's more he can't stand that he's about to put this _burden_ on her bony little shoulders. A burden she doesn't deserve because she deserves so much better than this. _Better than my sorry ass..._

She takes a deep breath, collects herself, arms crossed, mimicking his. "I remember jumping on top of a bus in the water to save you, and I remember..." she pauses, eyes getting wetter.

And the memory of _that_ moment, everything she was feeling right then and there, the fear of _losing_ him and the look on his face while he pleaded for her hand, hits her like a truck. Suddenly it's hard to breathe, and that giant lump in her throat is starting to _hurt._

She swallows again, tries to force it into retreat. "I remember trying to get you out," she says. "And then... I woke up in the car."

Both of his eyes squeeze shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose, that same memory and everything else afterward hitting him hard. "Yep. That's all correct," he grumbles. They open back up, only to look pained as ever, and he pushes out a forceful exhale.

"You were out, Ellie. An' while I was tryin' to bring you back they found us, knocked my ass out as well."

She's silent. Gaze not breaking from his. He has her full, undivided attention.

"Next thing I know I'm wakin' up on an operatin' table an' Marlene is sittin' right next to me."

Ellie flinches at that name, Marlene, though she does her best to keep it under wraps. It's hardly noticeable, but he sure sees it. And _definitely_ sees the gears already turning in that noggin of hers. Knows he's past the point of no return and has no choice but to continue.

So he does.

"The first thing I asked for was you," he says before taking a second to pause and clear his throat, realizing this is _way_ fucking harder than he originally thought. "I just had to know you were alright. An' then she starts goin' on about you bein' prepped for surgery."

The color from Ellie's face drains. Immediately. She looks pale as a ghost, jaw gradually dropping, her imagination already spiraling out of control and suddenly there's a sickening feeling bubbling in the depths of her stomach. _Wait what?_ _Surgery? I thought they were just gonna draw some blood..._

"Ellie, the virus, it... it grows all over the brain," he says, voice starting to quaver. It's deep, _still_ comforting, and raspy as usual, but there's a hint of anguish behind it that tugs on her heart a little. Though she's not sure if it's because hearing him in pain is hard to bear, or because she _knows_ where this is going.

Tears are quickly pooling at the base of her eyes, and seeing her in such a state is causing _his_ to sting with the threat of the same.

"They - " his voice nearly cracks. Hearing it out loud just about shakes him to the core. "They were gonna have to kill you to get the vaccine."

She gulps. Feels sick. Wants to vomit. Her eyes are round. Hands shaking. Breaths shallow and quick, hot and heavy. A crushing wave of panic hitting her so hard she's on the verge of passing out and collapsing to the floor. Her heart fucking _pounding_.

He lifts himself off the wall. "You had to die, Ellie."

Her pupils are dilated. A nervous sweat is percolating across her skin. And she's hot and cold all at the same time, mind racing a million miles a minute. _Oh fuck holy shit I..._ She shakes her head, can't believe what she's hearing is actually the truth, even _hopes_ he's still lying to her.

" _What?_ But I thought... Marlene..." she mumbles under a breath, barely audible. And she looks like she's about to shatter into pieces, because if she knows Joel - and she's pretty fucking sure she does - she has a pretty good idea of where this is all headed.

"Gettin' the vaccine meant losin' you," he says, and there's this terrified ripple in his voice as he realizes what the fuck _that_ would mean.

The tears break free from her eyelids. They start rolling down her cheeks, her freckles glistening in the shiny fluid. But she's surprised to discover how torn she actually is, because death is... _death,_ and deep inside there's a voice whispering to her that had she been conscious, she would have been strong enough to go through with it. To agree to Marlene's terms despite knowing the consequences, because _you sacrifice the few to save the many... right?..._

She gulps again, but stays silent while slowly blinking a few times, the poor girl in obvious shock.

And it's _killing_ him seeing her like this. Watching her retreat into her shell because she can't _trust_ him anymore. And he wants to wrap both arms around her and pull her into him and hold and _protect_ her. Wants to so fucking _bad_ it hurts.

So he takes a cautious step forward, toward her. But immediately she shuffles back, an equal step away, keeping the distance between them, arms still crossed as she encases herself in whatever tiny "safe" space she has left since it's _all_ she has now.

It feels like there's a thick slab of concrete between them, impenetrable at best. And it's the _first_ time she's ever shied away from his touch, his contact, from _him,_ and _Jesus_ it's tearing him to smithereens.

His whole face tenses, teeth clench, and he can't stand the thought that she's avoiding him. _Tell her it's 'cause you can't live without her. Tell her it's 'cause you need her. Tell her it's 'cause you need her like the seasons need the goddamn sun..._

"Look I... I told you I wasn't leavin' without you. I sure as hell wasn't lyin' 'bout that," he says, almost in a defensive tone, just praying she'll somehow understand. And for some reason that's the best he can muster up despite wanting to say so much more.

It doesn't work. Because silent tears are free-falling from her eyes, dripping down her cheeks, over the button of her nose, raining onto her upper lip. Those big, round greenish-blues of hers are staring off into nothingness, somewhere past him, beyond him, because _oh my god oh my god I can't fucking believe this what the fuck is happening this isn't real it has to be a bad dream I can't believe it's all over everything's done and it was all for nothing..._

Finally she responds. "Yeah," she quietly croaks with a slow nod, eyes and cheeks sopping wet, an absent and detached expression across her face. "You sure did."

 _Well I ain't leavin' without you. So let's go wrap this up..._

And suddenly one thing is _very_ clear. Marlene didn't let them leave. Joel got them _out._

She uncorks a loud sniffle, wipes her cheeks with a sleeve. "So did you kill them?"

His expression melts, lips pressing together as he huffs since he knows she won't approve of whatever he's about to say. It doesn't matter what.

"They told me I couldn't see you," he says, voice steady, unwavering, and straight as an arrow as he looks her in the eyes. And it sends a shiver crawling down her spine. Not because she's scared of him, no, never. More just... at the realization of what the fuck _really_ happened.

"I take that as a yes then?" she asks, voice delicate, tearful and nasal.

He shakes his head, exhales, rubs his brow. "Take it however you wanna take it."

"And Marlene?"

He goes silent. The color disappears from his face as it turns hard as rock, and he stares deep into that hurt, but _perfect_ face of hers, knows he doesn't need to say another word.

She slowly brings both hands to her cheeks, each palm covering half her mouth, tears collecting atop her fingertips.

"Oh my god," she mutters softly, airy. It lacks any body and is light as a feather. And it sounds like she's on the verge of _breaking._

"What did you do Joel? What did you _do?"_ she moans, finishing with a borderline squeal as she's hardly able to keep herself together.

"I did what I had to do. To get to you, then get us out," he responds, expression stoic as could be. But his heart rate is rapidly increasing and seeing her fall to pieces in front of him isn't making things easier.

Her face fills with red, and she looks like she's about to give him an earful. "Don't you know what you fucking _did!?_ " she screams.

Before he can even get a word in she's back at it.

"That was - that was fucking _everything_ Joel! That was it! That was the world! That was - " she splutters, chokes, can't finish and feels she's about to crumble into nothing but a hot, sobbing mess. _A chance to save... you..._

"For what!?" he yells, and he actually sounds _pissed._ "To save whatever scraps of humanity is left!? To keep hunters around!? To save people like that perverted _fuck_ from the lake!?" he continues, angry gestures and all while shouting at the the top of his lungs.

It's the first time she's seen him like this. Distraught. _Uncontrolled._ And for some reason it _hurts_ to see him this way. But she doesn't respond, just stares at him, that sick feeling in her stomach shifting into full on nausea because she's sure she's about to throw up.

His hands drop, planting themselves on his hips, and he takes a second to calm himself. _An' at the cost of you?_ He looks her in the eyes. Those big. Innocent. Beautiful. Round. Sparkling eyes.

"Wasn't worth it."

Those beautiful eyes narrow some, squeezing a few more tears out of the corners of each. "Did you think maybe I would've _wanted_ to go through with it anyway?" she says, tone a bit softer, yet still quite stern.

And _holy fuck_ is that a bomb-drop. Though she's not entirely sure if it's an empty threat or not. Isn't sure she could _really_ do it, but likes to think that if pressed to make a decision, she _absolutely_ would. But _holy shit Ellie. Could you do it? You would literally die. You wouldn't be here. And you'd... you'd leave him behind..._

He can practically hear the neurons firing away in her brain. See that noodle of hers wondering if what she just said is truth or not. But it doesn't really matter, because either way the mere _thought_ nearly breaks him in half and causes him to tremble.

"How can you say that to me? After everything we've been through," he says, voice quavering, and wounded like it did _really_ hurt. It's an extremely rare moment of weakness, of vulnerability from him that she's hardly ever witnessed, but she's not giving in.

"Well did you ever think it's what _I_ would've wanted!?" she shouts again, hands and arms thrown forward at him, like she can't understand _how_ he never considered that.

" _That_ was supposed to be my turn! My whole fucking..." she pauses, struggles to find the right word.

Then it hits her. And it just falls out of her mouth with an exhale.

"Everything."

But oh, yeah. He _definitely_ considered that. _It's what she'd want. And you know it..._

Regardless, he's at a loss for words. Feels defeated. Has no idea what to do and for the first time since she's known him it looks like he doesn't have a plan. Doesn't have an _escape_ route. So he just takes another step toward her, looking so fucking _desperate_ to get his arms around her. And his eyes _actually_ look like they're about to water while his voice comes out rickety as ever. "Ellie please..."

"No don't!" she shouts, retreating again. Immediately. The sudden movement just _feels_ instinctive and reactionary.

It causes his throat to twist into a knot and suddenly it's hard to breathe. And whether he knows it or not his arms are fucking _shaking_ because not being able to hold her right now is pummeling him to bits.

She sniffles, lets out a quick sob, hands pulling up to her cheeks once more to hold her face. It's like she's being torn right down the middle. Getting ripped in half. Whole heart being split into two because she hates him so fucking much right now and is _so_ angry. But seeing this man who's become her entire support system in so much pain and teeter on the brink of self-destruction is _killing_ her.

But she can't back down. She won't. And ignores one inner voice only to listen to another. She remains steadfast, grounded in her position.

"You've changed everything Joel," she says. It's nasal, silky soft and coupled with a few more tears dribbling down her cheeks.

He makes _one_ more attempt to get to her, stepping forward again, arms reaching for her again. "Ellie..." And it sounds like he's _begging_ when he says her name.

But she steps away. _A_ _gain._ "Unh unh," she chirps, shaking her head, barely voicing her resistance.

She swallows hard, hands still holding her face, feet pressed together and legs rigid as could be while she stands there looking so fucking _delicate_ like a leaf trembling in the wind. Like she could shatter into shards of broken-Ellie at any moment.

"This whole time I thought I'd finally found someone who would never hurt me. Someone I finally felt safe with. Someone I could _trust._ "

"Oh Jesus _Ellie,_ " he loudly groans, his whole body _aching_ and voice climbing in volume because the realization that he might actually _lose_ her despite his efforts is hitting him with the impact of a freight train. And for some reason he looks _weak,_ like he's rapidly losing whatever strength he has left.

She sniffles once more, and her voice comes out soft as velvet, but squeaky and so fucking _injured._ "But you've changed everything."

"Ellie - just... " he stops, feels himself choke on his words, eyes dancing in their sockets and frantically looking around the room for some _solution_ to all of this because there _has to be one right!?_ He can find a way to fix this, _right!?_

It's useless. And it all hits him at once. Hard. And he swallows. "Oh god baby please..."

She shakes her head. "No." It's a soft peep. Tearful, quick, _fatally_ wounded and half-serious and half-reluctant all at the same time.

It's obvious she's not sure what the fuck to do in this moment, but she must be experiencing the entire spectrum of human emotion because her heart aches and she's feeling all sorts of things and the synapses in her brain are firing in every direction and before he can even plead to her once more she's turning around and swiping up her backpack from the floor and bolting for the stairway...

"Ellie!" he shouts, reaching for her.

It's too late. She's already out of arm's reach and halfway there.

"Don't _fucking_ talk to me!" she screams, eyes leaking tears as she darts up the stairs.

It only takes her a few seconds to scamper all the way up, and in the next moment she's storming into one of the bedrooms, slamming the door shut behind her.

* * *

Hours have passed. She's not sure how many. Two maybe? Three? Four or five? She knows it's more than a few. Just knows it's dark out, probably past midnight, and can hear the familiar muffled chirping of crickets from outside.

The bedroom is foreign. The bed she's on is completely new to her. The comforter and sheets smell clean. It's all warm and comfy, and... different. Yet she's still _cold,_ and _miserable,_ because it's all so weird and _lonely_. So not _home._ She doesn't really know how to define _that_ yet. And thinks at the moment home is merely what she's _feeling_ right now and nothing more. What she's been feeling since waking up in the backseat of the car.

Her cheeks are stained with half-dried tear trails, which periodically renew when a particularly strong wave of... _something_ hits her. And she's staring up at the ceiling, deeply lost in her thoughts, lost in everything, mind racing about. She's remembering everything they've been through. The _first_ day, their laughs, the times he's _held_ her. And each moment, from the very beginning, plays in her head like a movie, always ending at the same spot. Here. This. His lie. _Him._ But...

What the fuck was he thinking? How the fuck could he not consider what she wanted? And _how could_ _he just fucking throw it all away!?_

She lets out a short whimper, squeezes her eyes shut, because what the hell is the _point_ now? What's she to do? Where will she go? What's her purpose? She feels so fucking empty and lost and hopeless and _fuck..._ she feels so...

 _Alone._

That causes her to _break._ And she rolls over, burrowing her face into one of the many pillows atop the bed. She cries into it. Sobs into it. Salty tears forming damp circles on the soft cotton. Then...

 _Joel._

The quick spurt of cries comes to a halt. She goes quiet, and the entire room is silent as a graveyard. All she can hear is the pounding of her heart, and feels a throbbing ache in her head from the long bouts of crying and... all of this. She thinks about him. What he did. _How_ he did it. How _she_ didn't seem to fucking _matter_ when he made his decision. And suddenly she's boiling with rage again. Anger filling her to the surface, ready to explode in an uncontrollable tantrum of tears, gritted teeth and kicks and punches from bony little feet and fists.

So she cuts it loose and _screams,_ fucking _screams_ into the pillow at the top of her lungs. As fucking _loud_ as she can over and over again until she's out of breath because she _hates_ him and hates his dumb stupid face and hates his stupid beard and hates how he hardly ever smiles and hates the way he walks and hates the deep raspy sound of his voice and his stupid fucking Texas accent and hates how he's always telling her what to do and how to do it and hates what he did to _her_ and Marlene and the Fireflies and how he fucking robbed her of whatever purpose and meaning she had left and hates how he's always so serious and never laughs at her jokes and hates how much he snores when he sleeps and the way he smells and...

Before she even realizes it she's _crying_ again. Bawling. Wheezing into the pillow. Her rage-filled screams seamlessly shifting into nothing but hiccuping sobs, eyes stinging from working overtime. She can't help it. Can't stop it. Because she _misses_ him already and misses the wrinkles on his worn face and misses the warmth of his breath against the back of her neck when they sleep and misses his musky scent when she wakes up in the morning all deliciously comfy and curled up in his arms because she _loves_ it when he holds her because it makes her feel so fucking safe like nothing could harm her no matter where they are and she loves the hidden softness behind his eyes and loves the rugged touch of his hand held in hers and loves the way he effortlessly scoops her up and loves how he _always_ seems to know what she needs and loves the way he makes her...

Feel.

For the first time in her life, she's felt like she matters to someone. Like she's important. And perhaps, just maybe, even _w_ _anted_ and _special._

The sobs cease. The tears stop falling. And she rolls over, exhausted, out of breath, reddish bangs all frizzy from being pressed into the pillow.

She sniffles, wipes both eyes with her sleeve and thinks of _him._ Thinks of that first time he _held_ her, in that burning down building with that monster lying a mere few feet away. It was the first time anyone _did_ ever hold her, and fuck it was... something. Something amazing, wonderful, abstract and beyond words. And she remembers, that in that moment, she realized living a single day _without_ him seemed _impossible._

Now she's _thinking_ again. Trying to untangle all of... this. And her eyes are wide, round like the moon, staring upward and getting lost in the patterns on the ceiling. _What if it were him? What if you had to make the same choice?_

She gulps. And a chilling tingle slithers up her spine, goosebumps rising across her skin. It forces her to sit up, cross-legged, mindless gaze shifting to the hardwood floor below as her brain wrestles with _that_ revelation. _Could you let him go? Could you lose him? Could you stand losing everything that you know?_

After all these years, these fourteen, long, lonely, painful years, she's _finally_ formed a real connection with someone. Someone who won't leave her. Someone who makes her feel safe. Someone she _can_ trust. Someone who has not, and _will_ not, let her end up _alone._

She slowly nods to herself, eyes still wide and glossy, and begins to think that just maybe she understands. Because _what's the point in saving humanity if you can't even save the one person you care about?_

Care. _He cares about you Ellie. Joel fucking cares about you. But he changed everything when he did what he did..._

Then she realizes something.

Nothing changed at all. He changed _nothing._ In fact, he operated in the exact same manner he's operated this entire time. He fought for her. Fought to save her. Just like he always had. And _had_ something changed, she wouldn't be sitting here, bawling her eyes out, hating - missing - him.

From the start he never left her side. From the beginning he never left her. From day one he never abandoned her. Even in the winter, when he could have bailed and _not_ come for her, he did. And in her most dire moment, atop an operating table in a hospital minutes from death, _he fought for me again._

No one's ever fought for her before. No one. No one but him. And he's never. Left. Her. Alone.

Her lips twist into a broken smile, and she brings both hands to her face again as she lets out a nasal, watery giggle. She can't believe what she's thinking, and what's more shocking is how _happy_ it's making her. _Oh - holy shit - I - oh my god..._

And that... _that,_ all by itself, causes her to reach over and open up her backup and dig out one of his flannels she sneakily "stole" the night before reaching Salt Lake City.

Man was that a weird night. Neither of them knew what awaited them. Obviously had no clue what the next day would bring. But the topic never really came up. They were just huddled together around a fire, enjoying the moon and stars. And she's pretty sure she told a bunch of dumb jokes that had him rolling his eyes and groaning, which of course made it _so_ much more fun. And just in case she _was_ going to end up alone, in case he did fucking bail on her once this was all said and done like everyone else had, she made sure to find the right moment to snatch it up and bury it all the way in the bottom of her backpack. She couldn't stand the thought of having nothing to remember him by. Nothing to bring back that soothing endorphin rush she gets when she smells him.

There's still a small part of her that thinks he knew she took it, though, despite the fact she waited to execute her sleight-of-hand until he got up and announced, in typical Joel fashion, that he had to "take a leak." And the fact he didn't say a word - even though yeah, he probably knew - just said so much by saying so little; nothing in fact.

And that's so Joel. _Fuck_ is that Joel. And all of a sudden she's chuckling to herself at the memory. It's all teary-eyed, fragile and airy, but it causes her lips to complete the final stages of a huge smile.

She takes off her hoodie and puts on the overlong thing. She swaddles herself in it. Closes her eyes and revels in the touch and smell of it. It's huge on her. Looks utterly ridiculous as it consumes her little form and hangs all the way down to her knees. But it's warm, and somehow still soft. And it smells just like... him. And before she knows it she's fucking _beaming_ like the brightest star in the universe.

Only a few minutes pass before she gets up and makes her way to the door. But it requires a _stupid_ amount of courage, though she's not exactly sure why. Guilt maybe? Guilt because she's still alive and _smiling_ instead of dead and being used for the cure? Yeah, maybe. Probably. It's that, and the smoldering embers of anger still alive within her. She's not _entirely_ ready to forgive him yet, still pissed as fuck. But for the first time all evening she thinks they can move past it. And just that knowledge alone is enough to get her up and moving.

So she takes a deep, deep breath, wipes her eyes, cheeks and nose, then puts on her best poker face and opens the door to go downstairs. To go to him.

* * *

The side of the couch closest to the front door, that's where he's been all night since she stormed upstairs. It'll give him a few extra seconds to react if she comes barreling down ready to sprint out the door and run away.

He's got no idea how long it's been, either. Seconds quickly became minutes, then hours, and he's tired as _hell,_ but there's no way he'll let himself fall asleep. He's afraid if he does he'll wake up and she'll be gone, forever, having tiptoed past him without him knowing. And _fuck_ he can't stand the thought of that. And even though he hasn't seen her come down the stairs yet, assuring him she's at least still here, he wonders if she's found another way out. Part of him is paranoid the girl and her resourceful ways have somehow figured out a way to climb down from the second story window. _Sure as hell wouldn't put it past her..._

So he's considered going up there, knocking on the door to see how she's doing. But he _knows_ way better than that. She told him not to fucking talk to her. And if there ever was a moment when he should heed a warning from the girl, it's _now._ And _Jesus_ does he know it.

All the lights are on to help keep him awake, along with the television. Despite how goddamn _weird_ it is to be looking at a functioning T.V he hasn't given it much thought. He only turned it on to make the time go by. Figured it would be a distraction. But... it hasn't been at all, really. In fact, when he turned it on along with the D.V.D player sitting beneath it, he just left the thing on the title screen of whatever movie happened to be inside. Never even bothered to hit 'play.' So instead there's this twenty-second loop of movie clips and the same damn music playing over and over again on repeat, and merely acting as background noise and nothing more.

He's just sitting there looking so _pissed_ and _depressed_. An elbow sits atop the armrest on his left, head resting against his fist. And he's mindlessly staring ahead, lost in thoughts of _her,_ and hasn't even noticed he's been hearing and "watching" the _same_ fucking repetitive thing for _hours._ Because it's _all_ her. All Ellie. Ellie this. Ellie that. Ellie everything. And as much as he doesn't want to admit it, he's eaten, slept, breathed and _lived_ Ellie for months now.

 _Goddammit you're gonna lose her an' you know it..._

There's a sickness eating away at his stomach, too, from her absence, making him nauseous as _fuck_. His head hurts. His body aches. And his eyes burn from lack of sleep and the constant threat of tears, though he's been desperately fighting them off. _Y_ _ou're gonna lose her too. It's how it was always gonna end. The hell made you think otherwise?_

Then finally, _mercifully,_ he hears a door creak open from upstairs. The sound of _hope_ makes his heart skip a beat, and within seconds it's _racing._ His head immediately darts around ninety-degrees, eyes tethering to the base of the stairs as he awaits with bated breath the _only_ thing he cares to see in this moment.

The patter of gentle footsteps echo down the stairway, each one sounding a bit louder and closer than the previous and he's _shaking_ again because he's got no idea what to expect. All he knows is he can't wait to see her and every second is feeling like a goddamn eternity.

But then it happens. And man is it _something._

She steps off the bottom step, rounds the corner and stands at the mouth of the hallway, just at the edge of the room.

The sight of her twists him all up in ways he hasn't felt in over twenty years. And he gulps, eyes glued to her. _Oh Christ Ellie..._

Hers are red from crying, and those soft, freckled cheeks stained with tear trails. Her lips straight as an edge. She's got both arms wrapped around herself, hands holding her elbows, and she looks so fucking petite, tiny and _fragile,_ like a baby bird. And _I knew that ratty old thing found its way to you,_ but it seems to fall over her bony little frame _wonderfully,_ like she's worn it for years. Her hair looks a bit unkempt, which is _so_ Ellie, but that signature ponytail is still up, fully intact, and dangling behind her head like it always has. Despite the collateral damage across her face from sobbing for hours, she just looks so... _perfect_ and _squeezable._ And dear god he wants to scoop her up and wipe away her tears and make her feel better and hold her _so_ bad it's gutting him.

But he's already tried that. Knows he better not move a single, goddamn inch. Knows he shouldn't say a word. He won't even allow himself to flinch or crack a smile out of fear of scaring her off. And when her eyes finally meet his, he senses there's something slightly different, because for the first time in forever he can't seem to get a _read_ on her. Isn't sure what she's thinking. Can't decipher what's tumbling around in that red-haired head of hers.

At least she's come downstairs, though, to the same room as him. It's progress, and he'll fucking take it because whatever morsels of her she's willing to give him he probably doesn't deserve at all.

Her eyes wilt some, like a flower in summer heat, because seeing _him_ isn't easy. The anger and hate from earlier are bubbling up again since she's still not over _what_ he did and _how_ he did it. The destruction. The damnation. The deception. The lie. _But he did it all for you and there's no way in hell you could let it happen to him and you know it..._

And yet... she's also so glad to find him sitting there, waiting for her. So happy to be back in his presence that her stomach is doing that strange butterfly thing. But she finds she can't _smile_ at the sight of him yet, because she still hates him and all that he stands for. At least she thinks so, anyway. And being so torn and this emotionally all over the place is making her _exhausted._

She's not exactly sure what to do, but notices there's something playing on the television, though she's hardly giving it any thought. Even with that, the silence between them is so palpable she could pop it like a balloon. And there's a small part of her that likes he's _listened_ to her. That he hasn't said a word. Hasn't talked to her yet. Just like she told him.

So she shuffles to the end of the couch opposite him, all timid, cautious and delicate as ever, then gradually lowers herself onto it.

The fact she's decided to even sit in his vicinity has to mean _something,_ right? Still, he doesn't say a word. Won't _dare_ to. Knows she warned him not to.

She sniffles, turns her head to look him up and down, and peers _through_ him, his eyes wilting a bit at the sight of her. They look so worn and tired and she knows he hasn't slept for even a minute.

It feels... good, to be near him again. It's warming, and there's a part of her yearning to get closer and snuggle up next to him like they did the other night around the fire. But she's still so angry and pissed and yet she _misses_ him all at the same time and she hates him but wants him close to her forever and wants to punch him in the face and loves that he's still here and -

She springs to life, like a cat mid-pounce, and lunges forward. She bolts. Darts. Clambers across the couch on all fours. Only to leap up and flail her little fists against his arm in some chaotic, uncontrolled release of fury, repeatedly punching him in the bicep and shoulder.

"Gaaah! Goddammit goddammit goddammit _goddammit! Fuck!"_ she screams, face scrunched and brow furrowed while she mauls his arm.

And for some reason he's _grinning_ like a fool while she shouts and smacks him over and over again, because it doesn't hurt at all, really. He doesn't even react, just sits there in silence and lets her do it, knows he probably deserves it and she'll eventually tire. And at least she's cutting it all loose and letting it out. It lets him know this is more of some weird, strange type of progress being made. And he'll take it. _Oh yeah_ he'll fucking take it.

Finally she stops, his arm throbbing _just_ a bit from all the pounding. And she flops down next him, red in the face, panting and out of breath, crossing both arms as she huffs.

"Goddammit I fucking hate being pissed at you!" she snaps, narrowed eyes staring straight ahead at the television. But actually, she's surprised to find how much better she feels after all that.

He's lucky, because there's a notepad and pen sitting atop the coffee table. He can only pray the damn thing still has ink in it. So he reaches for them and starts writing, senses she's watching his every move.

"The fuck are you doing?" she asks, tone still quite sharp.

He doesn't look up from the notepad, and instead simply raises a finger, as if to say _"hang on a second..."_

When he lifts the paper, shows it to her, he's got this shit-eating grin across his face because he knows he's being too damn clever for his own good. But _fuck,_ his little play works. It fucking works like _magic,_ because it yanks out an involuntary smirk across her lips as she reads it and he _knows_ she's fighting so hard to keep it down.

 _"Can I talk now?"_ it reads.

She snorts. " _Yes_ you can talk now." Then a shake of the head, a roll of the eyes. "Pssht... ass..."

"Thank you," he drawls. And he actually sounds kind of appreciative, albeit a bit irritated as well.

The smirk across her lips is begging to grow into a full smile because _man it's so good to hear his voice again._ It's deep. Raspy. Calm. Confident. Fills the room wall to wall. And thick with that familiar southern drawl that she _loves_. And goddamn has she missed it.

She glances at the television and finally realizes the same, exact, fucking thing has been playing on an infinite loop since she came downstairs. Realizes it's just the title menu for some old movie she's never seen before.

"You know you have to hit play to actually watch the movie, right?" she says.

He snorts, makes a light-bulb-moment face as he rubs his brow since it's just now hitting him that the stupid thing has been doing _that_ for hours now. "Yeah. I ahh... I know."

"How long has it been on?" she asks, intonation in her voice aplenty because she really is quite curious. And for the first time all night, she actually doesn't sound all that mad.

"Uhh..." He pauses, glances at the television, realizes how ridiculous this is about to sound. "I dunno. Three, four hours?"

She bursts out laughing. Laughing. She's actually _laughing._ And holy shit is it good to hear that familiar and wonderful Ellie-laugh. It's the greatest fucking sound in the universe. And he smiles, because he loves it to death. Loves how all of her laughs trail off with an exhale at the end. And he chuckles along with her, albeit hesitantly, since he's not sure if he's _allowed_ to or not. But _Jesus I missed you..._

Just as he expected, she lets loose an exhale as she finishes. "That's awesome," she says. And _now_ she's smiling too. Because he could have easily lied to her again and said he turned it on minutes ago. But no. He didn't. He told her the truth. Exactly as it was. He turned it on hours ago and just left it there playing the same damn thing over and over again while he spaced out like a total weirdo.

But her smile is quick to wane, and she turns to him, brings one leg atop the couch, one arm extending across the top of the headrest. There are a million things she wants to say right now. She wants to chew him out some more. Wants to tell him she still needs him like she needs air to fucking breathe. And wants to unload all her thoughts from the past twenty-four hours. But she knows she doesn't need to, because there's really only one thing that needs to be said. Knows everything else is stuff he's probably already aware of, or stuff that'll only make her feel more vulnerable than she'd like.

"Joel," she chirps, voice suddenly sounding quite hoarse.

He just looks at her and blinks, still slightly unsure as to how this is all going to end, though he's far more relaxed than before because at least now she's sitting mere inches from him and _talking_ to him. And the fact that she was laughing and smiling just a few seconds ago tells him she's not going to run off. That just maybe they'll _find_ a way to get past this, no matter how hard they have to dig and search.

She takes a second to examine him, to look him up and down, then sucks in a breath and wipes her eyes again. The poor things look so tired and red, and in this moment he fucking hates himself for being the one to cause them to look that way.

"Don't _ever_ lie to me again," she says, eyes locking onto his with what feels like maniacal precision. And there's a tone underneath it that lets him know she's _deadly_ serious.

He swallows, nods. "I know. I won't."

" _Ever,_ " she says.

"Ever," he repeats with another quick nod. "I swear."

And _this_ time she fucking believes him. _Finally._ And it feels like the biggest weight in the world has been lifted off her chest. His too.

Without saying another word she crawls toward him. It's a bit hesitant and tedious, like she's still wary of him, but it's more progress. Upon reaching him she settles down, curls up and nestles into him like a kitten getting comfy, tucking both legs in and resting her head on his shoulder. And she realizes just how _much_ she missed him and _this_ feeling. So she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, takes in his scent and _fuck how does he always smell so good._

She's waiting for his arm to drape itself over her, hug her outside shoulder and pull her tighter against him, but it doesn't happen. For some reason he feels stiff, so tense and rigid, like stone. And suddenly her heart skips a beat because she thinks that maybe everything has changed and from now on he'll always be distant even though she's worked so fucking hard over the past year to get him to open up and -

"You good?" he asks, tilting his head to see the mass of auburn hair propped up against his shoulder, ponytail draped over his arm.

She cranes her neck, looks up at him with those big, round, sparkling doe-eyes and even cracks a small smile. "Yeah," she says with a barely noticeable nod. "Good enough."

 _Good enough._ He'll take it. If it's good enough for her, it's good enough for him.

So he nods too, mirrors her. "Good."

 _Then_ his arm drapes over her. Hugs her. Pulls her close. Presses her into him. Within seconds he relaxes, and _finally_ he feels all cushy and warm and comfy beneath her again. And feeling his burly frame vibrate from the deep voice that bellows from it has her relaxing into him _perfectly._ Like she's finally come home to the place she's learned she _belongs._ The one place in the world she _loves,_ and knows nothing can harm her. _O_ _h my god_ does it feel so _good_ she can't believe she was even considering leaving him behind. And the knowledge that she was moments from death which would've meant never experiencing _this_ again makes her skin crawl, sends a shiver down her spine.

But it doesn't matter. She's here. And yeah, she's still a little pissed at him. But she's exactly where she wants to be. So she closes her eyes, smiles and lets out a happy sigh, full of content, knows there isn't a single damn place on Earth she'd rather be.

He rubs her arm with a hand, closes both eyes and burrows his nose into her hair, taking in her scent. Dear god is it wonderful. And it puts him at ease more than any drug possibly could. Lets him know she's close, with him, and _safe._

She reaches over into his lap, dainty fingers grasping at the air seeking his free hand. He obliges, slides it under hers, only for her to immediately intertwine their fingers like a wicker basket. Feeling her in his arms again sends whatever remaining tension in his body skittering away, and for the first time since driving out of that god forsaken hospital he feels completely... _relaxed_. Maybe even at _peace._ It's a weird sensation, but amazing too. No immediate danger. Nothing to really worry about in the current moment. His Ellie snuggled up next to him as they sit on a comfy couch in _their_ new home. _Shit, reckon I could get used to this..._

Their thumbs are absentmindedly rubbing and fiddling with one another, though neither of them seem to notice or even call attention to it. And she adjusts herself some, wiggles up against him a bit more because any space between them is too much.

She sniffles once again after finding the _perfect_ spot, nose still a bit stuffy from earlier. "What do we do now?"

He shrugs, makes a face like he's got not idea what to say because he doesn't, really. But the girl does pose a pretty good question.

"Dunno," he says. "Live."

She gently nods, head still stuck to his shoulder, like she's perfectly okay with the idea, eyes lost in the woven ball of their interlocked hands and fingers. "Live..." she says, voice trailing off. "I hear it's nice."

He reaches a hand up and scratches an itch on his nose. "Reckon it's got its ups and downs." It returns to her, and within seconds is mindlessly petting her hair.

"You know..." she starts, pausing to tilt her head back and look up at him again. And he meets her eyes with a curious expression, an eyebrow arched.

"I hope you realize what you've signed yourself up for," she says.

"An' what exactly is that?"

She grins. Big. Like a fucking clown. The whites of her teeth showing. "Me. For good," she states, looking all happy and bright-eyed.

A terse and boisterous laugh bursts from his gut. "Guess I'm committed now, huh?"

She nods again, cheek rubbing his shoulder. "Yep!" she declares, still gazing up at him like he's her solution to just about everything. And she's completely on board with it, because she knows when Joel commits, Joel _commits._

He sighs, like he just has no idea what to do with the creature currently tucked into him. He even lets himself smile a bit, thinking it'll hide beneath his beard, though he knows she's caught a glimpse of it.

And he tries to pull her in closer, as if there's some amount of space left between them. "C'mere baby gi-"

A small finger quickly flies up and plants against his lips, stopping him dead in his tracks. "Ah ah!" she says with a quick shake of the head. "No."

"The hell you mean?" he asks, face twisting into a knot because he really is confused.

"You don't get to call me that yet."

He simply stares into her eyes, narrows his, looks a tad annoyed.

"We'll work on it, okay?" she says with an uneven smirk.

He huffs, shakes his head, resigns himself to her terms. "Fine," he says, albeit reluctantly.

Although, he'll comply with any and all of her demands because he _just_ now got her back, for the second fucking time in the span of twenty-four hours. Won't dare do anything that might risk losing her a third time since there's no way in hell he could handle _that_ again. He knows whatever parts of her she's willing to give him he probably doesn't deserve anyway, and he better treat all of them like fucking gold. So he'll take it. All of it. Whatever he can get. And treasure it until the day he dies.

"I'll let you know, alright?" she says.

"Oh you will huh?"

"Yeah, you know, I'll give you a sign or something."

"A sign?'

"Yeah. Like a word. I'll say something and it'll let you know you're in the clear."

He makes a face and slowly nods like he's semi-okay with it all, but acknowledges to himself how much he _loves_ hearing her be all talkative and playful again. And he clears his throat, accepts the terms of the deal. "Alright," he finally says. "An' what exactly will that be?" He can't keep himself from asking.

She sits in silence for a few seconds, clearly trying to come up with something. It's obvious when it hits her, because her lips grow into a mischievous smile as her eyes climb their way up to find his once again.

"Banana split."

He chokes on a cough and lets out a short-lived, spitting laugh. Snorts too. Can't help it. "Do you even know what that is?"

She shrugs. "Of course not," she says, sounding quite kittenish. "I've just always pictured somebody splitting a banana in half or something."

He chuckles, rolls his eyes, but _god you're cute._

She _does_ know what a banana is at least. Although she's never seen a real one. One of her children's coloring books she had at the orphanage, when she was just a tiny wee thing, had a banana in the 'B' section. She remembers the first time she colored it in she filled it using a blue marker. Then one of the older kids laughed at her, mentioned to her that bananas are yellow, not blue. So she stole a yellow pen from one of the boys when he wasn't looking, then completely colored over the blue, only to make the banana green. It was close enough, though, since the kid who laughed at her magnificent piece of artwork in the first place _did_ mention bananas start out green, but then get more yellow as they ripen. _Man that book was awesome..._ and she remembers it fondly, remembers coloring everything in it multiple times over. It was all she had, but at least she had _something_ to keep her occupied back then and _I wonder what happened -_

"Ellie?" Joel says, that deep voice of his roping her out of her thoughts.

She twitches under his arm some, _oops,_ and clears her throat. "Yep?" she responds, as if she's been paying attention the entire time.

"Where in the hell did you learn that?"

"Oh. Umm... well, back in the orphanage one of the ladies who watched over the place always said 'banana splits for all!' if she was in a good mood or something."

He snorts, "tssht," and shakes his head, because it _is_ one of the weirder things he's heard recently. "Alright then."

That word, though, orphanage, digs at him because he can't stand the thought of _his_ Ellie spending any amount of time in one. Much less one in a world that's been ravaged by an apocalyptic virus for twenty-odd years.

So he sighs, sad eyes and all, and pets her hair again with a large, callused paw. "Well you got yourself a deal there missy. Banana split it is," he says, feeling ridiculous and silly as he does so.

The television is still on, _still_ playing the same goddamn thing over and over again, though neither have mentioned it or seem to care. And before he knows it an hour goes by. And she's resting, all up in his space, head plastered to his shoulder while she emits soft, gentle breaths, that _wonderful,_ faint, little whistle escaping that freckled nose of hers with each exhale.

He glances to his left, takes a look outside and sees the earliest stages of a morning sunrise. And just when he thinks she's completely asleep, he feels her shift, feels her pull her head back.

It draws his attention, and he's already looking down at her again. Her eyes are wet and glossy, but they're bright and glistening. It's obvious she wants to say something, and wasn't _really_ sleeping, instead probably lost in her head more than anything.

So he just waits. And he'll wait however fucking long she needs him to wait because they have the _time_ now, and he's more than okay with it.

But it only takes a second.

"Joel."

He doesn't speak, knows he doesn't need to, and simply unhitches the smallest of smiles as he brushes aside a rebellious strand of hair dangling down her face. And her eyes seem to well up some when he acknowledges her.

"Thank you," she squeaks, voice bumpy, and it cracks, stumbling over the lump in her throat. She sniffles. "Thank you. For doing it."

And for the first time in as long as he can remember, he _feels_ something. It's guilt, because he knows he should be the one thanking _her_ for _so_ many fucking things. But it's also an overwhelming serene sense of... _peace._ Because he realizes he's got everything he needs. Because for once he's actually _happy._ Even if only slightly.

Not a word leaves his lips in response, and he just squeezes her tight against him, closes both eyes and presses his brow against her head. _I ain't ever losin' you again..._

It's plenty enough for her. And she smiles, lights up like the sky on a starry night because she _knows_ what he's thinking.

She clears her throat to speak clearly, tightens her grip around his hand. "By the way..."

"Yes?" he mumbles, eyes still closed, brow still pressed against her scalp.

"Banana split."


End file.
